


Rainfall At Night

by Riddle_Me_This_Darling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitution, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riddle_Me_This_Darling/pseuds/Riddle_Me_This_Darling
Summary: This is my take on what could have happened to Thomas if he had been cast out of Downton after he kissed Jimmy. Please heed this warning: this one-shot is not a happy one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot when I was bored. I couldn't get the idea of Thomas being a prostitute out of my head and then this happened.  
> I couldn't bring myself to write something happy and I apologise in advance, this won't be a nice read. It's not overly graphic, it's just very bleak. Poor Thomas. I hate hurting him.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> Thomas will be handled roughly and there will be references to sexual assault.

There was once a time when Thomas Barrow had loved night-time strolls. He could still remember the first time he had snuck out of his parents’ home to wander through the empty, dark streets. His eight-year-old self had been entranced by the silver puddles glistening in the moonlight. He had been curious to discover whether fairies or other magical sprites lived in the puddles. Nightfall meant bedtime and bedtime meant sleep, therefore nobody would have been walking about at such a late hour as everyone, even the adults, would have been in their beds. His mother had repeatedly assured him that monsters were not real and his young mind had concluded that there were would be no possibility of danger should he creep outside to play. Unconcerned and full of excitement, he had climbed out of his window, slid down the filthy drainpipe and pulled himself over their small garden wall. He spent ten minutes running amuck and it had been great fun until his father came thundering down the road, furiously calling out his name.

“ _What on earth are you doing, lad?_ ” His father had scolded. “ _Get over here now!_ _Don’t you know who could be around? Men – bad men! The sort that sweep littlun’s like you up and take them away! I should take my belt to you for being so stupid!_ ”

Since that day, Thomas had come to know that walking alone at night was the pursuit of the lost, the lonely, the depressed and the deviant. No good, god-fearing man would loiter in the darkness once the respectable pubs closed.

Tonight, he was no exception. Finding himself unemployed without a reference, no credibility and no connections, there was little hope for him. Only a week had passed since his dismissal from Downton Abbey and already the small savings he had managed to acquire since his failed stint in the black market were dwindling away. He was alone for the first time in his life and it made him nauseous to think that he took Downton, the Crawley family and his fellow servants for granted. Even though he fine well that he was no longer welcome nor liked, he missed Downton. He missed the servants, even Miss O’Brien and Mr Bates to a small degree. He missed the quaint little village and the locals he used to speak to. He missed being surrounded by familiar faces. He missed the pattering of his fellow servant’s feet as they scuttled about. He missed the smell of Mrs Patmore’s cooking; the sound of Mr Caron’s booming baritone; the warm fireplaces. He missed the sound of Jimmy’s laughter. Jimmy. He desperately missed Jimmy.

Now he was surrounded only by silence, with the exception of a small tin can peacefully rattling along the cobbled alley. The cold air licked at his face and crept under his clothes, spreading across his skin like an icy tide on a frigid seashore. With purple tinged lips and chattering teeth, Thomas wrapped his thin coat tighter around his shivering body.

“I should just give up,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

Two days prior, he had drowned his sorrows in a bottle of cheap whiskey and overheard three men whispering amongst themselves, discussing a most _discreet_ establishment that was apparently a short walking distance from the popular watering hole he often passed, The Swan. If the three strangers were to be believed then the secret club they spoke of presented an opportunity for him to earn some money. As he was all too aware of his current situation, Thomas knew that he needed to make use of this information and after some hesitation, he finally garnered the courage to leave his small, stuffy room at the inn to search for the “red door blackened with soot, around the corner from The Swan.”

He had followed the stranger’s vague directions and after stumbling about in the dark for half an hour, he eventually caught sight of a red door. Now he only needed to push it open but he was afraid and anxious. He knew nothing about this place and this area was unfamiliar territory. He knew nothing about the punters who frequented this venue and he wasn’t even sure if this was a place that catered to men like him. Glancing over his shoulder, he was was relieved to find that the alley was still empty. He hadn't caught sight of any police officers roaming about the area on his way to the pub, a good sign but he also couldn’t hear any music or chatter; tell-tale signs that would reveal whether Thomas was in fact standing outside some sort pub.

“Am I really so desperate,” he wondered, “that I’m following vague directions from a conversation I only half overheard?”

Without warning, the red door flew open and a gaggle of drunken men spilled into the alley, stumbling over one another as they struggled to walk upright. The smallest of the men noticed Thomas and promptly came to a halt, swaying slightly as he gave him the once over.

“Look here,” the man said loudly, pointing at Thomas’s chest. “You selling, lad?”

Thomas opened his mouth to answer but the man hiccupped loudly and waved him off.

“Never mind then! Thought you might have been after something on this here lovely evening,” the man gabbled, “but never mind, there’s always the morrow, or the night after.”

One of the man’s companions turned and called out, “John, you’re talkin’ a load of shite! Ignore him. He’s had too much ale.”

The group dissolved into uncontrollable laughter and continued to swagger up the alley. None of them seemed to be steady on their feet and Thomas hoped that they would all find their way home safely. He wasn’t certain what the man had meant by ‘selling’ but was willing to take a risk. After casting one final glance around the now deserted alley, he cautiously pushed open the red door and slipped into the small courtyard.

The secluded underground pub was crowded and dimly lit. The air was thick with smoke and smelled unpleasantly of stale tobacco, cheap beer and sweat. Thomas almost gagged but if he was to make a go of propositioning himself, he needed to keep his composure. He had never taken up with a prostitute before, although he had been approached by one or two in the past. They had been young, waifish, sickly looking things with large shifty eyes. He pitied them in retrospect, but at the time, Thomas could remember thinking to himself that he wouldn’t want to even touch them with a barge pole. He had never needed to resort to paying a man for sex anyways as he had usually the one who was perused. Before the war, he had been young, undamaged and beautiful. He had received attention from men of all backgrounds, from dockers, to farm labourers, to visiting Lord’s. He had an affair with a Duke for god’s sake! He had been first footman at Downton and was once regarded as being the best looking young bachelor in the village. He had been desirable; a diamond in the rough.

Now, he no longer felt like a shining prized jewel. He felt more like a blackened, unattractive lump of coal.

A tall ashen haired man marched straight past Thomas and didn’t give him a second look. That never used to happen when he was a footman; he used to turn heads whenever he walked into a room. Wounded, he carefully cut a path through a gathering of men, one of whom was waving his arms above his head as he spouted nonsense about a ghostly figure. As he skirted past the animated storyteller, he scanned the dimly lit room for any signs of potential danger. Underground clubs that catered to men of his ilk were constantly under threat of closure and any known person connected with such an establishment would be arrested by the authorities. Undercover officers operated in venues such as this and Thomas knew that he would have to tread carefully. He spotted two men standing in a dark corner next to the small bar. They stood with their backs to the room’s centre and if their body language was anything to go by, it appeared as though they were carrying out a business negotiation of some kind. Both men were well-dressed but Thomas could see that their suits were made of a cheaper material, similar to the fabrics he could afford. If there was one thing Thomas had learned as a footman and a valet it was how to spot quality material. He wasn’t able to put his finger on why the two men had caught his interest, but something told Thomas that if he was to chance approaching a stranger tonight then he should choose one of these gentlemen. They were both tall, broad-shouldered and looked to be in their mid-to-late thirties. Thomas stepped forward and edged past a table of rowdy, grey haired men who were clashing their pint glasses together in some sort of toast. One of the businessmen, the shorter of the two, looked over his shoulder and Thomas immediately froze, afraid that he had been caught. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, but to his relief, the man didn’t notice Thomas or even look in his direction. His gaze had settled on the now closed wooden door at the bar's entrance and Thomas wondered whether they were waiting for another man to join them. Someone was whispering behind him, however Thomas thought nothing of it as he took another step forward when he found himself suddenly startled by a feather light weight stroking his leg. His eyes shot downwards and he caught three weathered fingers ghosting over his right thigh. The man showed no remorse or shame and made another attempt to grab at Thomas whilst his companions jeered. Disgusted, Thomas swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and hurried forward to escape further molestation.

“Fucking dirty old bastards,” he muttered darkly under his breath. To add to his humiliation, he could feel the men’s lingering gazes burning into his skin as they ogled his rear, passing lewd comments back and forth as they chortled.

Thomas took a deep breath and silently prayed to the God he didn’t believe in to bestow patience upon him.

“Still,” he thought to himself, “at least someone’s interested.”

His new position at the left side of the bar gave him a partial profile of the mysterious business men’s faces. The shorter of the two men was speaking animatedly, gesturing wildly with his hands as shoulders bobbed up and down.

Whilst Thomas considered the shorter man, the barman grunted loudly, startling him. Staring wide-eyed, he was greeted with a firm nod, but the wrinkled barman did not appear particularly friendly; his eyes were cold and his weathered face was set in a deep, permanent frown. “What can I get you, son?” He asked flatly. He looked bored to death.

Thomas gave him a shy smile and replied, “Just a pint please, anything will do.”

The barman’s eyebrow arched in surprise. It wasn’t often that his customers were polite enough to say please. He still sighed and reached beneath the bar to pull out an empty beer glass. Ignoring Thomas, who had tried to smile at him out of pity (he knew how it felt to serve people who didn't give a damn about you whilst you worked on your feet all night), the barman filled the glass and sighed again, which Thomas found very unprofessional. Carson would have erupted if he had ever caught Thomas huffing and puffing on the job. He had never had dared to even frown when he had waited on the Crawley’s in case a member of the family singled him out for his expression and questioned whether he was ill.

Those days seemed so far away now. To think he had once stood in Downton’s hallowed halls in his smart livery alongside the other servants. He had once been at valet to his Lordship. He had served during the war. He may not have been the most honourable of soldiers and he had his hand to prove it, but he had gone on to become a Lance Sargent and manager of Downton’s convalescence hospital. Now where was he? He was alone. He had no reference. He only had a few shillings and a pound to his name. The small, useless possessions that he owned were lying in his decrepit room in a dingy little inn. With his hand in the state that it was, Thomas knew he would never be hired for manual labour. Without a reference or proof that he had been educated in a decent school, he would struggle to find a job in retail. Without a reference, he couldn’t even get a job in a hotel. He did not know how he was going to find employment anywhere. His cousin was in Bombay… he could always stowaway on a boat. Or he could save up for a ticket, but that would take time. Plus, he would need to get to London. London was where he should be heading now. His current plan was the only option he could think of that would make him money quickly. He regretted sneering at poor Ethel Parks fall from grace. At least she garnered some sympathy. Thomas had been a bastard from day one and in the eyes of everyone at Downton, he was now a deviant too – a pervert who had preyed upon a pretty blonde boy. Unlike Ethel, he undoubtedly deserved his fate. He likely had it coming.

“That’s exactly why we need to meet him!” The short, dark-haired businessman exclaimed loudly, earning him a fierce glare from his partner.

The man’s sudden outburst brought Thomas out of his thoughts.

“Here,” said the barman, passing Thomas his drink over the bar.

Offering the barman a polite nod, he handed over his money and carefully perched his bottom on a bar stool to continue eavesdropping on the two men.

“Shh,” the second businessman hissed. He was taller with lightly tanned and blonde, artfully tousled hair, not unlike the style Jimmy sported. Thomas felt his chest tighten uncomfortably as he remembered how beautiful the footman had been.

“Now isn’t the time for blubbering!” He scolded himself privately. “Get a hold of yourself you soppy bastard!”

He cast away all thoughts of Jimmy and focused his attention on discreetly observing the taller blonde to his left, who turned his head to the side. The man’s expression was one of calm serenity, but something about his demeanour suggested to Thomas that he was the sort of man who could turn cruel in an instant if one were to cross him. This queer assumption was perhaps down to the man’s cold, dark eyes but as Thomas didn’t know the man personally, he couldn’t be sure. His gut told him that there was underlying danger and against his better judgement, he decided that he wanted this man, if he could have him. Both his mother and Miss O’Brien had accused him of being reckless and impulsive. They had been correct.

He looked on curiously as the shorter man pressed something into the blonde man’s hand, the item’s identity obscured by shadows. After nodding once to one other, they bid each other goodbye and their exchange came to a conclusion. The dark-haired man turned and made his way towards the exit, glancing at Thomas whilst his passed. The blonde was left alone, smiling to himself as he ordered another pint.

Draining his glass, Thomas felt sufficiently braver. Two sweaty labourers approached the bar and temporarily obscured his vision. He decided to take his time and wait to approach the blonde. Half an hour later, he had consumed two more pints. The blonde was still standing in the same spot and hadn’t made an attempt to speak to anyone else in the club.

Now was the time to strike.

Stealing himself, Thomas edged past a small middle-aged man who was ordering a pint and sauntered over to the blonde, hoping he appeared more confident than he felt. As he reached the man’s side, he took a steadying breath before whispering a husky, “hello,” into the man’s ear.

The blonde didn’t say anything at first and Thomas panicked, terrified that he had made a grave mistake. The man looked over his shoulder and considered Thomas with a raised eyebrow and a frown but to Thomas’s relief, his expression softened. The man looked him up and down slowly before he let his eyes linger Thomas’s mouth as he nodded, “you’ll do. You’ll do nicely.”

Thomas cleared his throat, momentarily taken aback. Surely there was some kind of unspoken law or a routine that one had to follow when picking up a whore? A conversation had to take place at the very least, even a simple exchange of a few words as confirmation.

“Preference of location?” Thomas queried, picking at a loose thread on his jacket in an effort to appear nonchalant. He wanted to impress the man and prove that he knew exactly what he doing, as though he had done this a thousand times. Even as a child, Thomas had always preferred to control a situation. He liked to feel secure knowing that he was in charge.

To his embarrassment, the blonde man threw his head back and gave a light titter that blossomed into a loud belly laugh. Several heads turned to stare at them and Thomas froze, unsure what to do with himself. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole so he could sink into the earth and hide, never to venture out in public again. Everything that he had anticipated was turning on its head far too quickly and Thomas couldn’t keep up. He wanted to turn around and walk out of the bar. He received another shock when a broad thumb swept across his plump bottom lip, dragging its calloused flesh over his soft red mouth. The man laughed again and beamed, entertained by Thomas’s dazed expression.

“Aren’t you a funny one?” the man said cheerfully, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re new to this, I can tell. Besides, I haven’t seen you around here before. I know the owner; have done for years so I’m familiar with his regulars. Do you have a name?”

“Jimmy,” Thomas blurted out, wincing as soon as the name tumbled from his lips. He cursed himself his silly blunder. Heat pooled into his cheeks and nausea washed over him at the thought of this man referring to him as _Jimmy_. He wanted to wretch, to run outside into the alley and vomit. What on earth possessed him to tell this man that his name was _Jimmy?_ This night was turning into a disaster.

“Steady on now,” the blonde said gently. “That’s a lesson you need to learn and sharpish – never tell anyone your real name! You’ll only end up in bother. Don’t you know that there are policemen who send out spies to lure in the likes of you, one’s who proposition themselves? If they know your real name, you’re done for. Luckily for you, I’m a decent bloke. I’m going to call you Charlie and that’s the name you’ll be using for tonight, alright? You look like a lad I once knew called Charlie. You’re bonnier mind you, he wasn’t up to much. It’s the colouring – your black hair.”

“R-right,” Thomas spluttered, nodding his head slowly. Charlie, he could handle being called Charlie, although he didn’t feel like a Charlie, the name didn’t suit him. He tried to picture his own face from memory to decide whether he could pass for a Charlie.

The man smirked and gave his wrist a light tap. “Are you on something?” he wondered, tilting his head to the side as he searched Thomas’s face. “You go off into your own world a lot. You should keep your wits about you when you’re doing this, being off in fairyland is dangerous. You really are green, aren’t you?” He shook his head, then indicated towards the door. “Let’s be on our way then. I have a _preferred location_ I want to take you to. Now, I’ll go on ahead. Count to fifteen, then follow me out. Walk out of the door, down the alley and turn left, then walk on until you reach the very end of the street. I’ll meet you on the corner. Don’t worry, you won’t miss me. Can you follow those orders, Charlie?”

“Yes…er?” Thomas realised he didn’t know what he was to call the stranger.

The blonde smirked and leaned closer. “Call me Ralph,” he said quietly. “I’m going to leave now. Remember, count to fifteen, walk down the alley, turn left and then walk to very end of the street – the very end. Don’t turn off into another alley. Do I need to repeat any of that?”

“No,” Thomas shook his head. “I know where I need to go.”

Ralph stared at him expectantly, his eyes boring into Thomas, eyebrows raised. After a few moments of silence, he sighed and whispered, “You’ve made another mistake.” He took a step back and chuckled fondly when Thomas blinked in surprise.

“You haven’t negotiated your price,” he explained. “State what your price is - your exact price and be quick about it, no messing about or hesitating. I could have you chasing me down all sorts of alleys, leading you off the beating track and for what? If I didn’t like your prices, I could do anything to you. I’d have no witnesses and you wouldn’t dare blabber to the police, would you? Besides, I’m also putting myself at risk. You could have a knife or anything on you for all I know. If I refuse you because of your prices once we’re about to start, I could be the one in bother. You can never be too careful on the streets and you best remember that.” He paused and gave Thomas a compassionate smile. “You look so…what’s the word I’m looking for?” Evidently, the word he was searching for came to him as he clicked his fingers. “Haunted. You look troubled and trust me, it’s breaking my heart. I’m tempted to just bring you home and have you live with me, keep you off the streets. God help you.”

Thomas wanted to smack himself in the face for not negotiating a price. He felt like an utter fool, humiliated and ashamed that he wasn’t even clever enough to be a successful prostitute. This man could be his saving grace, however. If he kept up his blundering ignorance, maybe this man could give him a job – a real job. Thomas wasn’t above working in the black market, he’d tried that and failed miserably, but this man seemed more worldly, more sure of himself.

“I won’t be taking you home, of course, pet.” Ralph continued in a gentle, mild tone. “But I know somewhere private.” He gave Thomas’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Don’t worry though, I won’t hurt you. As I said, you’re obviously new to all of this. I’ve seen enough young ones coming and going over the years to know. You need to be discreet. In future, make sure that you state your price – no elaboration. Do you understand?”

Thomas nodded silently, avoiding Ralph’s firm gaze.

“Right, come on then. Offer me your price, duckie and I promise I’ll accept it regardless,” Ralph grinned. “I’d be a fool to pass on the chance to have such an amusing thing such as yourself, wouldn’t I?”

Over the years, Thomas had accumulated various snippets of information about prostitution. All of them had been tragic, grotesque horror stories, but one thing had been always apparent; the money was easy. He had never heard of a customer showing kindness and sympathy to a whore. Thomas appreciated Ralph’s advice and was pleased to think that the man had taken a shine to him. He would rather leave with him than one of the scruffy old buggers who stroked his leg and tried to cop a feel of his arse.

Thomas needed the money, desperately. In all truth, he didn’t really have a choice unless he wanted to starve on the curb of a road.

He smiled at Ralph and said, “Fine. Here’s my price.”

 

 

Thomas followed Ralph’s directions and found him smoking a cigarette on a dark street corner. Without exchanging a glance, the two men walked along the street in silence. Black clouds darkened the sky and Thomas wondered whether the universe was trying to warn him that Ralph was not to be trusted. Droplets of rain began to fall and Thomas hoped that he was being led to a sheltered side street. Earlier in the day, he had pictured himself seducing a handsome stranger, a man a little older than himself. His mind’s eye casts its memory back to the little scenario he had envisioned whilst daydreaming in his room. Mr. Imaginary had been desperate for Thomas and had offered more money than what was originally put forward to him. He wanted so badly to please Thomas, after all he was paying for the company. Thomas had naturally taken liberties and exercised full control by ordering the fantasy man to undress himself for Thomas’s own pleasure before pushing the gentleman against a wall, kneeling at his feet to unclasp Mr. Imaginary’s trousers with his nimble, quick fingers. Thomas would be excellent, so talented he would have the man wailing and swayed on the spot, pleased with Thomas’s skilled, wicked mouth. Over the years, Thomas had received high praise for his oral techniques.

“Darling, you’re so good at this,” Philip, the Duke of Crowborough had once drawled. He had lain amongst his thick, downy pillows whilst Thomas pleasured him. “Do that again Thomas, please do that again!”

If Mr. Imaginary had wanted more, Thomas would have been happy to oblige him. He wanted a pair of strong hands to push him down, to claw at his skin and obey his every command. He wanted to watch some poor sod strain and exhaust himself as he pounded into him, overwhelmed by the sheer emotion of the moment. Only the desperate paid for whores and Thomas wanted to see a man undone; to laugh at him if he was pathetic and hold him if he wept. He would be someone’s salvation and their damnation all in one breath. He would feel like a god.

 

Thomas didn’t feel particularly powerful as he stumbled along the crooked pathway behind Ralph, tripping over the uneven stones. The rainfall was becoming heavier and Thomas felt uneasy about the situation, but knew that he needed to refrain from panicking or else he would be leaving without any money. He had already made a fool of himself at the bar, there was no room further schoolboy errors. Mrs Patmore had preached, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” and Thomas intended to make full use of Ralph, he was quite a handsome man after all. The thought of Ralph caressing Thomas’s body with his large, rough hands made Thomas shudder with delight as he hurried behind the tall blonde. He began to relax as he drank in the sight of the man’s solid build and colouring, wondering whether his ancestors had been German or Swiss.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Thomas assured himself. “You’ve gone with strangers before in worse places than this. He’s not bad looking, quite the opposite.”

He smiled, eyeing Ralph’s firm behind as they rounded another corner. He quickened his pace until he fell into step with the blonde and opened his mouth to speak. He intended to comment on the low rainfall that was gradually becoming heavier when he was suddenly grabbed by the waist and slammed into a rough stone wall. His vision blurred as he momentarily flew through the air, but cried out as soon as his shoulder blades crashed into the hard stone. He groaned in pain but was silenced by a large clammy hand clasped over his mouth. Thomas instantly saw red and began to violently writhe in Ralph’s arms, trying to push the taller man away. He almost lost his footing when his shoe skidded across the wet cobbles and Ralph sniggered, delighting in his struggle. His pupils were black with lust as he bore into Thomas’s wide, frightened eyes, and in a show of dominance, he pressed his body into Thomas’s chest, effectively pinning him to the wall. Thomas’s heart beat wildly and he was panting, afraid of what the man would do next when he received another terrible shock. Ralph dipped his head forward to lap at his neck, his thick fingers threading through his sensitive scalp. Thomas shook with fear, and he could bile rising up his throat when Ralph suddenly pulled away, meeting him eye-to-eye. He fixed Thomas with a cold stare and grinned like the Cheshire cat as if daring Thomas to retaliate, to try and fight him again. Beads of water slid from Ralph’s hairline and joined together to glide over his flushed cheeks in a delicate cascade of trickles. He would have looked beautiful if his smile hadn’t of been so ugly.

“Get on your knees,” Ralph whispered. When Thomas made no effort to move, he sighed and pushed his body into Thomas’s chest again, pressing his lips against his jaw. He kissed the soft skin and trailed his mouth down to Thomas’s neck, nibbling on a tendon. He chuckled when Thomas’s gasped and repeated, “Come on Charlie, on your knees. You know what to do.”

Blinking away tears, Thomas nodded. Avoiding Ralph’s gaze, he slid down the wall until he kneeling. He raised his hands and began to unbutton Ralph’s trousers, revealing the white cotton of his undergarments. The man’s arousal was evident as a large clothed bulge jutted out to greet him, eager to make his acquaintance. Thomas swallowed nervously and slowly leaned forwards, pressing a light kiss onto the small wet patch where Ralph’s cock was leaking.

“Good boy,” the man cooed. “This isn’t all I’m paying for either. Now, carry on and don’t stop or I’ll be forced to hurt you.”

Thomas did as he was told.

 

 

The encounter had been rough – too rough. His hands were scraped raw from being pushed too hard against the dirty stone wall. His body was cold and wet from the rain and his mouth and arse were red raw from abuse. He may be bleeding but Thomas couldn’t be sure, not when his body felt so numb. He had stretched and lubricated himself before he had left his room, but he hadn’t anticipated meeting a man who would be so well endowed. His muffled whimpers and desperate pleas for Ralph to slow down had only encouraged the bastard. He had not been gentle with Thomas and he had not been kind. To add insult to injury, Ralph only paid Thomas half.

“Thanks for that, love,” Ralph had taunted. “I didn’t bring enough pennies with me Charlie, you must understand. I didn’t expect to find you, did I? If the club’s still open next week, come and find me, darlin’. I’ll pay you extra, I promise.”

“You fucking prick!” Thomas had spat, furious but too exhausted to throw a punch. “You utter cad!”

Dismissing him with a wave of his hand, Ralph had sneered, “Oh poor duckie, get yourself home now and have a warm bath. You look like a filthy whore.”

Ralph had cackled with glee whilst Thomas seethed, glaring up at him venomously from the wet pavement before he turned on his heel and walked away, swinging his jacket in his hand as he whistled a merry tune.

 

 

Thomas was left staring at the wall of the opposite building. Hot tears rolled over his cheeks, but Thomas could barely register emotion. He no longer felt scared or even sad. He felt nothing. A rustling sound to his right was enough to break his trance. He turned his head and caught sight of his reflection in a discarded piece of a metal that had been propped against the side of a rotting wooden fence. Thomas noticed that he was surrounded by broken, abandoned furniture and piles of useless material waste. He hadn’t noticed that he had been surrounded by rubbish.

 “How fitting,” he mumbled.

The stench of rotting wood and mould wafted in his direction and Thomas felt his stomach churn. Staring at his reflection again, he frowned at his unhealthy appearance. His face was deathly pale and the rain had flattened his hair to his head. He looked like a drowned rat and was a miserable sight to behold. If he had still been a valet at Downton, Thomas would have been hounded by Carson for getting himself into such a state. He would have been given extra polishing to do the next day.

Time crept by and Thomas remained motionless, lost within his thoughts. This was to be his life now. He was destined to be picked up, used and then thrown away like he was nothing. He felt like he was nothing. He felt as useless the broken, moulded furniture scraps that surrounded him. He could fantasise about meeting a kind, rich man who would take Thomas under his wing, offering him a low position in his household or his business. It wasn’t likely to come true, Thomas knew this. His father had been right all along, only bad men roamed the streets at night. Only bad men wanted to snatch up people like Thomas.

There was an ache in his backside and his mouth was sore from abuse. Thomas needed to return home soon, if he could call his room at an inn home. Then the revelation hit him like a ton of bricks; he no longer had a home.

 

 

When the rain eventually stopped, Thomas scraped himself up from the pavement and slowly made his way to back to the inn. Tomorrow night he would back out onto the streets again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> I may continue this and have Thomas turn to alcohol/drugs to cope.  
> I've also considered having Jimmy or Mr Bates stumble upon him one day - perhaps even Mrs Hughes. Thomas would be thin, unhealthy and possibly on deaths door from lack of care.  
> Let me know if you would be interested in a follow up chapter.


End file.
